A Day in the Life
by Sis21K
Summary: A brief glimpse into individual newsies' lives; a collection of one-shots.
1. Romeo

**Hey guys! So I decided to write this as a sort of character evaluation, just so I can experiment with characters I usually don't write about. I'm starting out with Romeo, because I've noticed there are a lot of fans of him and Race (and I must say, they're starting to grow on me). Each chapter will be a different character, and I'll just write about a day in each life. It's not really going to make sense as a continuous story. Just think of it as a collection of one-shots.**

**Also, this doesn't mean I'm abandoning my other work-in-progress, Stubborn, which you should totally check out if you haven't already; there was a huge plot twist in my last update! (A little self-promotion never hurt anyone, right?:)**

**Hope you enjoy!**

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Romeo was a deep sleeper. Jack was always the first one up in the morning; he shouted at the others to wake up and then went around shaking awake the ones that were still asleep. Romeo always had to be shaken awake.

This morning, when Jack laid a firm hand on young Romeo's back, ready to start shaking, Romeo's eyes flew open and he jumped. "Yah! Ah…jeez, Jack…you scared me…"

Jack laughed. "Time to get up. Them papes don't sell themselves."

Romeo moaned. He'd been having a great dream. As he sat up and ran a hand through his dark messy hair, he tried desperately to grasp at the fragments left in his mind. The dream had included a girl…had he kissed her? Romeo shook his head. It was gone. He dreamed about girls a lot.

Jack was still standing by Romeo's bed, but he was reaching up to the top bunk where Race was still snoring. Romeo crawled out of bed, and Jack tussled his hair, scowling up at the still-sleeping Race. "See if you can wake him, why don't you…" Jack said.

Romeo grinned and crawled up to the top bunk. "Race! Race!" he croaked, clearing his throat and shaking Race as he did every morning. "Get the heck up! You'se gonna be late!"

"Wha…?" Race groaned. He rolled over and pulled the covers over his head, kicking at Romeo."Get off…"

Romeo grabbed the thin blanket and tugged it off Race, tumbling off the bunk in the process. He landed nimbly on his feet but stumbled backwards into Specs, who grinned and steadied the younger boy.

"Hey!" Race yelled, finally rolling out of bed with a snarl. He snatched his blanket back from Romeo and glared at him groggily. Romeo shrugged and scampered out of the way. He'd learned not to mess with Race in the morning.

After buttoning up his shirt, lacing up his boots, checking eagerly in the cracked mirror for any sign of facial hair (this was in vain; he watched the older boys shaving every morning with hot envy), Romeo joined the group and headed out to the streets.

He stayed near the edges of the crowd of newsies, hoping for a glimpse of a girl that might give him a kiss. He tried his luck with a young, rich-looking woman, but she just smirked at him and walked away. Romeo watched her get into a carriage and scowled. Jack patted him on the back with a laugh. "Better luck next time, kid."

At the circulation desk, Romeo tried to jump in the front of the line but the others wouldn't let him budge. He found himself being pushed and shoved to the back, as usual. Davey and Les showed up and joined him in the back of the line. Romeo was still shy around them, so he didn't try to make conversation. He found it hard to be comfortable with people he'd just met—except girls. For some reason, girls were easier to understand at first shot. Boys were tougher; Romeo had grown up around the newsies that had become his brothers, but sometimes their teasing made him timid about what other people might think of his frequent interactions with the girls.

Romeo bought his usual fifty papes and plopped down beside Race, whom he'd deemed safe to approach by that time. "How's the headline?" he asked, unfolding one of the papes.

"You got eyes, see for yourself," Race snapped. He waved a paper in front of Romeo's nose. "Lousy, as usual."

Romeo pushed Race's pape away and read the headline of his own. " 'Factory Fire—No Injuries, Extinguished Within Minutes'," he read with disgust.

"Wish the firemen weren't so good," Race said, frowning at a picture of several smiling firemen in front of the factory, which showed no signs of damage.

"Here's a good one," Romeo piped up, flipping the page. " 'Mayor to Re'— oh, never mind, it's rotten. I thought it said 'retire', but it's just something about 'returning funds' to someplace."

"You want me to clean out your eyes for you?" Race asked, clenching his fist threateningly. "Here you got my hopes up, and it's just an old—"

"Let's hit the streets, boys!" Jack called, sending everyone out into the city and cutting Race off.

Romeo jumped up. "See you, Race," he called, scuttling off to his usual selling spot near a salon. Mostly it was all old rich ladies going in there—which was good for his business of course, seeing as how they pinched his cheeks and handed him a dime without him having to hawk headlines much—but sometimes younger women would fly in and out, giving him plenty of opportunity to flirt.

In fact, he had just taken up his post when he spotted a real beauty of a girl, flouncing out of the salon alone. "Hello there, miss!" he called excitedly. The girl stopped and turned, her curls bouncing on her shoulders. "And how are you today?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Um, fine."

"I'm just a kid trying to make a living off sellin' papes, you know…think you'd take one, help a fellow out?"

The girl glanced down at her small purse hanging off one shoulder. "How much?"

"Usually I'd ask for a dime, but for a special lady such as yourself—"

"No need to flatter me, boy. I've got a special young man who does that every day."

Romeo's heart sank, but he didn't give up. "For you, I'd make it a nickel. If you give me a kiss."

She looked up sharply and examined him for a long moment. Then she walked briskly towards him and glanced across the street. "All right, so I don't have a man, but if you're going to kiss me we'd better do it around the corner. Daddy's watching me from across the street and he wouldn't want to see."

Romeo was delighted. They went around the corner and stopped. The girl pressed a cold silver nickel into his hand and he stood on tiptoes to kiss her. Then she was gone, and Romeo, heartened, shouted at a man across the street, " 'Factory Fire Kills Dozens! Families Angry! Authorities Blame Government'! "

The man bought the pape and Romeo made a run for it.

At lunchtime he counted up his coins. He still had twenty papers left to sell, and he'd given two other young ladies the deal he'd given the first one, so he decided to skip lunch. He waved sadly at Crutchie who was hurrying to the bakery, then continued to yell false headlines.

" 'Mayor Retires'!" he was shouting, grinning at the thought of Race's empty threat that morning when Romeo had misread the headline.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, and there stood Crutchie, holding out a single piece of bread. "Couldn't let you go hungry," Crutchie said kindly. Romeo beamed up at him and shoved the bread into his mouth.

"Oh…uh…thanks!" Romeo mumbled through a mouthful of bread. Crutchie tussled his hair affectionately and limped off.

Romeo smacked his lips; the little nutrition that the bread had to offer had nevertheless given him a bit more strength to sell the rest of his papers. He knew Jack would make him pay Crutchie back for the bread, but as he again painstakingly counted up his coins, decided the day hadn't been a complete loss. He'd kissed three girls, and now had enough money for a decent dinner.

Maybe he'd eaten a little too much for dinner, because by the time he stumbled back to the Lodging House, he could barely think straight. Romeo fell right into bed, and Race laughed at him as he passed. "We're gonna hafta call you Sleepy from now on!"

Romeo jerked slightly awake—enough to reach under his bed and fumble for a pencil he kept there. Turning to the wall beside his bed, he made three little tick marks, one for each girl he'd kissed that day. It joined dozens of others, bringing the total to somewhere near fifty. It had been a good day, and as Romeo dozed off, he was vaguely aware of one of the others laughing softly and removing Romeo's hat for him. Then he was asleep again, dreaming about more kisses, more food, and more papes.

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**Don't forget to review, and tell me what other character's lives you would like to see!**

**-Sis21K**


	2. Race

**Thanks to everyone who followed! And thanks for the reviews and suggestions! I will do my best with them all!**

**Oh, and I forgot a disclaimer on the first chapter, so: _I do not own Newsies! _That goes for this whole thing, in case I forget again.**

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Race felt a rush of cold air on his chest as young Romeo pulled the covers off him as he did every morning. If there was one thing he hated, it was getting up in the morning. He knew he was being stupid, but he couldn't help snapping at the others as he blearily got ready for the day. The worst part of it was that someone had taken his cigar—again. Race always left it on the table by his and Romeo's bunk bed, and almost every morning it was gone. The others were always taking puffs on it.

He threw on a shirt, glaring around at his fellow newsies and keeping his eyes peeled for his cigar. He finally spotted it sticking out of Albert's mouth across the room. Albert was a frequent culprit. Race stomped over. "Hey!" he grumbled. "That's my cigar!"

"Go steal another," Albert retorted. It was the same dialogue, every morning. Race wrenched his cigar out of Albert's mouth and stalked out the door in a huff.

He was still rubbing his eyes when they reached the circulation desk. In a daze he slammed down a coin, muttered, "A hundred papes, Weasel," and lounged on one of the wagons, flipping through the pages. "Boring, boring…can't these reporters write anything worth my time?" he complained to no one in particular. "Folks get suspicious when they see a fella more than once and last time got a lousy headline from him."

At Jack's word, he joined the other newsies in the rush for the gate, finally waking up a little. He jogged down to the racing tracks and pushed his way through the crowd. "Paper! Get your mornin' pape!" He sold a bunch right away, and when the bustle died down, Race allowed himself a few minutes to watch the race.

"That one there's a beauty, eh?" a man mentioned.

Race grabbed his chance. "She looks all right, but ole Spotty over there's gonna soak her."

"Whatcha bet?"

"Gimme a nickel for it."

"You'se joking, kid! If she don't beat ole Spotty I'd give you a dime."

Race fumbled in his pockets. "All I got is a quarter."

"I'll double it for you if Spotty wins."

"And it's yours if she don't."

The race started with a bang from the shotgun, and Race joined the crowd in shouting for his favorite horse. He'd watched the races so often that he knew each horse like the back of his hand. Sure enough, the spotted steed he'd bet on pulled out in front and flew across the finish.

"Cough up," Race demanded of the man, who grumbled and pressed a dirty quarter into his palm. Race pocketed it with a grin and moved on.

"Extra! Extra!" By midday Race had resorted to lying about the headlines. " 'Mayor's Gone Crooked! Stealing from the People!' You heard it right here! Get your pape! Read all about it!" There was a movement in the crowd around him as people reached to buy papers. As soon as he'd handed out about twenty and received his pay, he wormed his way through the crowd before anyone could accuse him of hawking a false headline.

He made bets with a few more guys (and won all but one) and then decided to head to get lunch. His stomach growled loudly as he escaped the throng and made his way towards the deli. When he got there, he waved to Specs and Albert, who were having a furious game of cards in the corner. Race bought his lunch and went over to them. After a minute the door opened and Crutchie came in, grinning. He joined the other three boys wordlessly, not wanting to disturb the fast battle as Specs and Albert slammed their cards on the table.

"Ten to one Specs wins," Race said to Crutchie, laying a nickel on the table. He was still irritated at Albert for stealing his cigar that morning.

Albert scowled but his eyes didn't leave the game. Crutchie raised an eyebrow. "You know I ain't into betting, Race."

"I'll make it a dime," Race offered.

"Nope," Crutchie said, shaking his head.

"C'mon, Crutch! Have some fun in life." Race's head whipped back and forth as he followed the game. Albert was getting red in the face. Specs' eyes were narrowed in concentration.

"You're a lousy cheater!" Albert yelled as his pile of cards dwindled. Specs frowned.

"Look who's talking!"

Albert slammed his last card on the table and pounded both fists on it, making cards fly everywhere. "I shoulda known better than to play against a cheater!" he bellowed, drawing the attention of the others in the deli.

Crutchie put a hand on Albert's shoulder and frantically tried to make him shut up. Race grinned. "Don't worry, Albert. I'm sure you don't always lose. I mean, look at that match against Davey the other day!"

Albert clenched his fists. Specs was unsuccessfully trying to hold in laughter. "I won that round fair and square," Albert hissed.

Race chuckled. "Yeah, excepting the fact that Davey'd never touched a deck of cards before!" Specs roared with laughter.

Albert stood up and shook his fist in Race's face, but the manager yelled at them from the counter. "Get outta here before you give this place a bad name! Get in your fights somewhere else!"

Crutchie kept his hand on Albert's shoulder the whole way out, heroically not joining in Race's and Specs' guffaws. Race hoisted his bag of papes back on his shoulder and saluted the others. "See you later, kids!" he called, running back towards the track. "Oh, and Albert? Don't get yourself in any more card games! Unless they're against Davey, of course!"

"What's that you said about me?" The voice startled Race. Not looking where he was going, he'd nearly run into Davey, who was apparently heading to the deli for a late lunch.

"Oh, nothin', nothin' at all," Race said quickly, but he couldn't stop himself from adding, "Just talkin' about how great you are at cards!"

Davey rolled his eyes. "I have better things to do than play cards," he said airily. Race grinned and headed back towards the track.

"Extra! Extra! 'City's Water Might Have Been Poisoned Last Night'! Read all about it!" Several people around Race promptly dumped their small purchased cups of water on the ground and thrust their hands toward him for a paper. One fellow spat out a mouthful of water on the man in front of him, and Race hurried out of the way before he could get caught in the middle of a fight.

He sold the remainder of his papes unusually fast, and had time to place a few more bets before strolling back to the circulation desk to hand in his bag. A block away, he was confronted by the last people he wanted to see—the Delancey brothers.

"Ain't you supposed to be helpin' out at the desk?" Race asked warily.

Oscar grinned. "Mr. _Weisel_ let us go early. Seems he don't need as much help these days."

"You'd think he'd need more help, seeing as how some of us sell our last papes right back to you."

"That stupid strike did nothing for you," Morris said, cracking his knuckles. For a moment his face changed. He was looking over Race's shoulder. "Ah." He beckoned to his brother. "But you go on ahead," he called back to Race.

Race wasn't about to be fooled. He whirled around and saw Romeo coming up the street, whistling. "Don't even think about it!" he yelled, sprinting after the brothers. He wasn't called Race just because he went to the track every day—Race could run. And run he did, catching up with the Delanceys quickly and pounding both of them in the head. Oscar fell to the ground; Morris managed to remain standing. Race got to Romeo first and crouched down. "Get on!" Romeo got on his back and Race sprinted away, throwing out a punch when Morris almost caught up to them.

He let Romeo down when they reached the circulation desk. "We'se safe now," Romeo said, and Race nodded. They tossed their empty bags at Weasel and walked together to Jacobi's, where more newsies were already.

Race observed that playing cards was the new fad; there were several games going already. "Not takin' my advice, eh Albert?" he said, nudging Albert, who was engaged in another losing battle against Mush. "Who wants to bet on Mush and Albert?" he asked. Several groans came from the tables around him.

"I'll bet on anyone but them two," said Finch, one of the only boys who gambled with Race.

Race scanned the rest of the tables and his eyes landed on a game between Davey and Buttons. He made his way over and elbowed Les, who was watching the game intensely. "I put a nickel on Davey losing," he said with a smirk.

"Race-Les!" Davey warned, his eyes not leaving the cards, "You know what the rule is. No betting."

Les ignored him. "Davey's got Buttons beat!" he said passionately.

"Les!"

"You got a nickel?" Race asked. Les stopped watching long enough to reach in his pocket and pull out a nickel. Race spat in his hand and held it out for Les to shake.

"Les! Don't you dare!"

Les hesitated. "Come on, Davey," he said, with a hint of nervousness. "It's just for fun."

"I said no!"

Race raised his eyebrows and held his hand a little closer to Les. "All in good fun," he said.

Les glanced at Davey again, then shook his head. He spit in his own hand and shook Race's. Davey groaned, still not looking up. "Wipe!" he commanded, and Les half-heartedly rubbed his palm against his pants a few times.

"Now you gotta win, Davey, you gotta!"

Race enjoyed hanging out with the two brothers, especially when he encouraged Les to disobey Davey. He looked at it as initiating the younger boy, making him more independent. Race turned his attention to the game, which was not nearly as fast paced as the others'. In fact, it was agonizingly slow. "What are they even playing?" he muttered to Les.

Les grinned. "It's called—well, I forget, but Davey says it's a game of thought and peer ends."

"Thought and perseverance," Davey corrected irritably.

"You're not playing war?" Race asked in disgust. Davey shook his head and gently laid another card on the table. Race scowled and rolled his eyes. "I might as well give you this now," he said, tossing his nickel to Les. "Don't know what you're thinking, Buttons. Davey's gonna cream you at this 'thoughtful parents' game."

"Thought and perseverance!" said Davey in exasperation as Race went to watch a more exciting game.

That night, when Jacobi had kicked them out and they were headed back to the Lodging House, Race caught up with Jack, whom he hadn't talked to yet that day. He liked keeping on the newsie leader's good side, for various reasons.

Tonight, Jack seemed to have other things on his mind, and went straight up to his rooftop when they got home. Race didn't mind; with Jack out of the way the newsies could wreck havoc on the place. Race started it all by stealing Specs' glasses, laughed as he watched Specs stumble blindly after him, then shoved the glasses in Romeo's hands and leapt to an upper bunk to watch the fun. Romeo looked at the glasses in confusion, then looked up to see Specs and a couple others running straight for him. The younger boy's eyes widened, and he ran. Race reached down, swiped Henry's cap as he ran past, and threw it across the room to an unsuspecting Crutchie. He leapt across to another bunk, this time his own, and tossed a blanket down on another pack of boys running by. The three unfortunates pawed and yelled as the sheet wrapped around them, then they stumbled and fell to the floor on top of each other with an impressive bang. Race threw his pillow down at them for good measure.

By the time Jack stomped downstairs and yelled at them all to shut up and get to bed, Race was enjoying himself immensely. He sighed but obeyed, picking up discarded sheets and pillows as he walked to his bunk. Under one pile of blankets he found Romeo, sound asleep on the floor. "Sleepy kid." He grinned and picked him up, somehow managing not to wake Romeo. Race deposited the boy none too gently in the bottom bunk and climbed swiftly up to his bed, marveling that Romeo still didn't wake, but merely rolled over with a moan. Race dropped his cigar down to the table, where it landed with a thunk.

He pulled his hat over his eyes and was asleep in minutes.

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**Don't forget to review!**

**I regret to say the next chapter won't be up until next year. (Um, that's tomorrow. Don't panic. Happy New Year!)**

**-Sis21K**


	3. Crutchie

**Because of popular demand, this chapter is about Crutchie's day! I didn't really have time to read through it, so it might be a little rushed-oops. Standard disclaimers apply!**

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Crutchie crawled out of bed with a yawn and a stretch as Jack woke up the other boys. He was always one of the first ones up, which was all right with him.

"Crutchie, can you help me button my shirt?"

"Hey, Crutchie! Be a pal and toss me my razor!"

"Crutchie! I forgot how to tie my shoe!"

Crutchie grinned. The boys were always badgering him for help. Jack was the leader, but they only went to him with really important things. Crutchie was left to help everyone out with the unimportant, simple tasks throughout the day.

"Just a sec, fellas!" he called, hopping down the stairs with his gimp leg thumping along behind him. "Specs, I ain't tossin' you your dang razor; it'll slice somebody's throat open!" Specs grumbled good-naturedly and crossed the room to get his own stuff.

"Crutchie! Hey, Crutchie!"

"I'm a-comin'!" Crutchie moved slowly through the lodgehouse, stopping here and there to button shirts, tie shoes, and answer questions.

Someone had stolen Elmer's shirt, and Crutchie thought it was safe to say pretty much all the boys were behind it. He was trying to calm down an angry, shirtless Elmer when Jack appeared out of nowhere, looking frustrated with everyone, and tossed Elmer his shirt.

"Let's go!" he yelled gruffly.

"Aw, come on, Jackie, we'se just havin' a little fun!" someone yelled. There was a chorus of agreement, and the boys surrounded Jack, trying to suck up to him. Crutchie hurried along after them, ushering the last newsboys out of the Lodging House before closing the door. By the time they reached the circulation desk, Jack was laughing, his frustration at the newsies for causing trouble evaporated. Crutchie budged into his usual spot in line, greeted Mr. Weisel with forced politeness, and took his fifty papes.

He was glad to be friends with Jack. A lot of big shots like Jack Kelly wouldn't give a cripple the time of day, but Jack and Crutchie had been the best of friends since they were kids, and Jack didn't ignore him now that he was the Manhattan newsies' leader. If it hadn't been for Jack, Crutchie would probably be moaning in some gutter somewhere, wishing he was dead. Jack had given him a life worth living, and for that he would be ever thankful.

With this in mind, he sat down next to Jack, though he tried to force all those mushy thoughts out of his mind. Jack was forever teasing him about coming out with these mushy statements that made the newsies pretend to retch in the background.

"Headline stinks…" Jack muttered to himself.

"Ain't that the usual?" Crutchie replied. Jack gave a little laugh and shook his head. Davey greeted them and Crutchie moved over to make room for him to sit. They paged through the paper, occasionally pointing out a fairly good story hidden between snoozers about politics and flower shows. Every once in a while, one of the less-literate boys would ask for help reading a particularly difficult word. Some of the more shy boys would slouch over to Davey and point nervously at the page; Davey would kindly pronounce the word for them with a smile. Other outgoing boys would shout out the page number and the words preceding whatever they couldn't read, so the others would call back an answer. Finally, they headed to the streets.

As Crutchie passed through the gate, he nearly tripped and realized that his shoe was untied. Seeing as it was on his bum leg, he didn't want to go through the pain of bending it just to reach his foot. He nudged Jack and spoke over the shouts of the surrounding newsies, pointing at his shoe, until Jack got the idea. Together they sat down and Jack hauled Crutchie's foot into his lap.

"Thanks!" Crutchie yelled, after Jack had tied his boot with a practiced whip of his fingers, replaced Crutchie's leg on the ground, and helped him up. He headed down the street to the neighborhood where he sold.

"Buy a pape, miss?" he asked hopefully. His leg conveniently stirred up a cloud of dust, making him cough.

"Why, of course! You poor thing!" and just like that Crutchie had a dime in his pocket.

Crutchie had experimented with different tactics used by the newsies, and found that playing up his limp sold the most papes. He knew Jack and most of the others sold their papes by making up headlines, but Crutchie had actually found that using the boring headlines worked best; it gave people more reason to feel sorry for him. Indeed, a few hours later, he heard a lady he'd just sold to say to her friend, "Those poor boys…they can't even get decent stories to sell!"

"That's about right," Crutchie thought to himself, deciding it was time for lunch. The morning had gone quickly, but he was dreading the afternoon, which always seemed to drag on forever, especially in the heat of the sun.

Crutchie headed to a deli, passing a few of his fellow newsies on the way. He even sold another paper—Les was appealing to a rich-looking lady who didn't seem to be buying his fake cough until Crutchie limped over and helped him out.

"You okay, Les? You really shouldn't be out sellin' with a cough like that." A twinkle in Crutchie's eye told Les that he was acting, and Les caught on right away.

He gave a couple more feeble coughs. "I knows it, Crutchie, but I gotta eat, you know."

"I know. I'm s'pose you'se pretty hungry, seeing as how most of the money goes to feeding your family. Er, bruddas and sistas, I mean." Crutchie wasn't sure if Les was playing the orphan card or not.

"Yeah," Les said, giving the lady a pitiful sniff. "I'll be okay though. How's your leg doin'? I know it ain't easy draggin' it around the streets…"

"Well, a fella's gotta scrape a living somehow, right?"

By the time they'd finished with her, the lady had nearly dissolved into tears at the pair of them, given them each two dimes, and rushed off, dabbing at her eyes. Les grinned. "Thanks, Crutch. I wasn't sure she was going to believe me there for a second."

"Any time, kid," Crutchie said, limping off.

He ate lunch quickly—none of the newsies joined him since it was pretty early to be eating—and set back off to his spot. Romeo caught up to him just as he turned a corner. "Crutchie! Hey, you mind if I sell with you for a while?" he asked timidly, glancing behind him. "There's a couple of Brooklyn boys who started hawkin' on my spot, so I got outta there as quick as I could."

"Brooklyn newsies?" Crutchie asked with a frown, letting Romeo tag along. "What are they doin' here in Manhattan?"

Romeo looked shaken. "I dunno. They was younger, though. Probably don't know the ways of the city."

"Probably not," Crutchie agreed. "Gee, hope they figure it out before Spot catches wind of that. Yeesh. They'd be in trouble then."

"Spot Conlon…" Romeo said knowingly. He sighed. "Don't wanna get on his bad side, that's for certain."

"That's right."

They took up spots on either end of the block, and Crutchie employed his usual strategy, keeping an eye on Romeo to make sure he didn't get himself in trouble. Crutchie sold a few within a matter of minutes, but soon Romeo came jogging over, a frown etched on his face.

"This spot's got no pretty girls," he complained. Crutchie laughed. "But how are you supposed to sell your papes? All's I see is old hawk-nosed ladies and men with suits."

Crutchie clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll show you how it's done. Watch and learn." Romeo stepped around the corner, bemused.

Crutchie approached a stern-looking man and slouched to make himself seem smaller. "Buy a pape from a poor crippled boy? I ain't eaten in—" But before he could finish, the man had snatched the paper and slapped a coin in his outstretched hand. Romeo emerged, looking awestruck.

"How'd you do that?"

Crutchie smiled. "Just acting poorer than dirt."

"That's what we is already, so it shouldn't be hard."

By the end of the day, Romeo was acting poor—rivaling Crutchie himself. They both sold all their papers. On the way back, Romeo skipped off to join Race, but Crutchie wasn't alone for long. Les ran over and started chatting, and they were soon joined by Mush. When those two went off to tell Specs something, Crutchie limped a little faster to fall into step beside Davey. He just hated walking alone.

"Hey, Davey," he said, and was rewarded by an avalanche of words. Davey always liked to talk about the stories in the paper at the end of the day; Crutchie suspected he spent a lot of his time reading the papes instead of selling them. Crutchie just skimmed the headlines, so he usually had no idea what Davey was talking about. He nodded along with Davey's ravings about a law that was soon to be passed—he hadn't quite caught what the law was exactly about.

When Davey had talked himself into silence, he went over to get Jack's opinion, and Crutchie was immediately ambushed by a few newsies who had apparently heard about the business with Romeo's selling spot being taken over by Brooklyn newsies, and wanted his take on the matter.

"I'm tellin' you, I don't know who they were," he repeated patiently for about the twentieth time. "Romeo just said it was some Brooklyn boys, probably too young to know what they was doin'. Spot Conlon will have it straightened out in no time."

"Hey, Jack! Did you hear about—"

"Yeah, of course I did!" Jack yelled behind him, still getting his ear talked off by Davey. "With all your yappers shouting at the top of your voices, it's a wonder I can hear myself think!"

"There might have been a couple of people over in Queens who didn't hear you, how's about we discuss it once more?" Race added sarcastically.

Everyone always wanted Crutchie's opinion on the latest gossip, but he didn't like speculating on things he didn't know much about and preferred to stick to facts. Soon the topic turned to other news of the day ("Did you hear the Delancey brothers got soaked in that alley behind the bakery?") the newsies moved as one group to the circulation desk to toss their bags at Weasel, then back to the Lodging House.

That evening, as was the case many nights, Crutchie couldn't sleep, so he made his way up to the roof. Jack had given him permission to come up and sit with him whenever he wanted, and this privilege was so special that Crutchie's heart still fluttered when he tentatively made his way up. "Jack? It okay if I—"

"Yes, Crutchie," Jack said in affectionate exasperation. "How many times do I gotta say it—you don't gotta ask."

"Sorry."

"And don't apologize either!"

"Sor—oh." Crutchie laughed. He settled himself a few feet away from Jack, whose pencil was scratching furiously against a piece of paper propped in his lap. "Whatcha drawin'?"

"Santa Fe," was Jack's ready answer. Crutchie shook his head.

"You're crazy. You still think about that place?"

"A fella's gotta have a dream."

"I thought you'd moved on to bigger dreams. Like stayin' here with your brothers. Like illustrating the paper." Crutchie glanced over at Jack slyly. "Like pretty girls named Kath—"

"You can shut up," Jack said, his ears growing red. "You think I don't get enough—"

"Aw, lighten up, Jackie. I was just joking."

"I know, kid."

They sat in the silence for a while, but it wasn't an awkward silence. It was the kind of silence that can develop between the best of friends when each is lost in their own thoughts. It was a comfortable silence, and Crutchie didn't want to break it. But before he knew it, he had nodded off against Jack's shoulder, jerking awake when Jack shrugged him off.

"My arm's getting numb, you sleepy head," he laughed.

Crutchie stretched. "I'm f-f-fine," he said, giving a ferocious yawn.

"Get to bed."

"But Jack!"

"I said get. Or do I have to carry you?" Jack's tone was stern, but his eyes were laughing. Crutchie obeyed, telling Jack goodnight before he went back downstairs, and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

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**Don't forget to review, and tell me who I should write about next!**

**-Sis21K**


	4. Les

**Okay, I'm doing Les because I know his character pretty well so it isn't too hard to write. I'm planning to do one of the lesser-known/-talked about newsies next, but I need to do a little research and character development first. So here's Les! (I love him and Davey being all brotherly so there's a lot of that.) Hope you like it!**

**Standard disclaimers.**

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"Les! Les, get up!"

Les blinked in the watery sunlight as Davey threw the blinds open in their little room. "Wha…what's da matta with you?"

"We're late already, they're gonna be done handing out the papes by the time we get there!"

Les stumbled out of bed and was knocked aside by a half-clothed Davey, who went rushing past him. Davey always panicked in the mornings, so Les wasn't really worried about being late. He figured they'd get there when they usually did, which was just as the headline went up.

A bunch of clothes hit Les in the face. He scowled and caught them before they hit the floor. Davey slammed a drawer shut and dashed out of the room, calling, "Hurry up and get dressed, Les!"

Les scrambled into his clothes for the day—he realized Davey had tossed him the same shirt he'd worn yesterday, but he didn't really care. His fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons as he ran out the bedroom door and to the kitchen. "Toast is all we got time for!" Davey yelled from the bathroom. Les stared at their old rusty toaster—considered—shook his head—then grabbed a piece of bread and stuffed it in his mouth without toasting it. The bathroom door banged open. Les took his chance and slipped past Davey, who was tucking in his shirt. He splashed some water on his face and ran a hand through his hair. Davey glimpsed the white bread hanging out of Les' mouth and groaned. "You still scared of that darn toaster?" he asked in exasperation, running to the kitchen and throwing some bread in the toaster. Les shrugged and stepped over to the toilet after closing the door. A few seconds of silence passed. Les could practically see his older brother in his mind, waiting tensely by the terrifying toaster, ready to pounce when the hot metal monster spit out their bread, slightly black and crunchy. He hated that thing.

A loud pounding on the door startled him. "Hurry up, Les!"

"I'm coming, I'm just going—"

"I _don't_ need to know, thank you! Just hurry up!"

"I can't help how fast it comes out!"

"Les! Really! Like I said, I don't need to know!"

"You yelling at me ain't making it go any faster!"

Davey gave one last pound on the door and left, but only for a moment. Then he was back. "Do you have your boots on? We gotta go!"

Les glanced at his feet. "No…"

Davey jiggled the door handle. "I thought I told you not to lock the door when you're in there!"

"Well, I don't want you barging in on me when I'm—"

"All right!" Davey bellowed. "Your boots are out here, now get moving!"

"Davey, how can I move when I'm—"

"You know what I mean!" Davey ran off. Les could hear him muttering, "…figure of speech…"

Les flushed and opened the door, nearly tripping over his boots, which were lying right outside. He stuck his feet in and tucked the laces inside his socks. Davey was yelling at him from outside.

"Coming!" Les yelled back, really tripping this time, but he picked himself up and hurried outside after Davey.

As he passed through the doorway, he got a whiff of something harsh. Davey must have smelled it too, because he knocked Les aside and ran back inside, moaning, "Toast!"

Davey shoved the blackened piece of bread into Les' hands and they set off together down the street. Les took one bite of the burnt toast and spit it out. He tossed it to some pigeons, then ran a hand through his hair. Wait. His hair?

"Hat!" he called, sprinting back towards home. He could hear Davey groaning in the distance as he threw open the door and almost bumped into his dad, who must have decided it was safe to get out of bed now that the brothers were done racing around the house and shouting at each other. His father opened his mouth to ask, but Les was already in the bedroom. He spotted his hat on the bedpost and jammed it on his head. As Les ran past Mr. Jacobs, he yelled "Hat!" in explanation, then slammed the door and hurried to catch up with Davey.

He was still panting when they got to the circulation desk. Jack took one look at him and laughed. "You won't have to work too hard to sell a pape today with that sickly face."

Les crossed his arms. "I was running."

"From somewhere, or to somewhere?"

Les shrugged. "Both, I guess. I forgot my hat."

"Ah." Jack sat down with Crutchie to read the day's headlines.

Les knew which people to avoid in the mornings: mainly Race and Davey. Race because he was always snappish at such hours and Davey because he was always ready to chastise Les for not getting ready fast enough. So Les took his papers from his brother, who always paid for both of them, and climbed onto one of the wagons between Romeo and Buttons. "How are they?" he asked, referring to the headlines.

"Same old, same old," Buttons moaned. "I dunno, Les. I might have to start playin' at your game. You know, makin' folks feel sorry for you."

"You think you could get anyone to feel sorry for a face like that?" Mush asked, earning himself a whack on the head from Buttons.

Les had tried to sell the way Jack did, which was to hawk out good headlines and run, but with not much success. If he didn't rub dirt on his face and stumble around, he looked healthy and people figured he was from a good family with enough money, just trying to scrape off a little extra. He did have a good family, that was true, but he needed the money. So, he played it down and pretended he was an orphan. Davey didn't approve of this method, but then again, Les usually sold about sixty papes and Davey only sold forty, so the elder held his tongue, though not without a disapproving glare each morning. Nevertheless, Les took up his usual spot and started appealing to the wealthy people walking by, who were only too glad to help out a "poor orphan boy".

At midday he headed down to the deli, after first making sure he'd sold enough to pay for lunch. He entered and saw Jack, Davey, and Crutchie at one table next to Race, Romeo, Mush, and Henry.

"How's the day?" Jack asked Les as he sat down, holding a sandwich.

Les swallowed before answering. "Good. I'm down to twenty-eight."

"Nice going," Crutchie said with a grin. "New spot working out okay, then?"

"Les," said Davey suddenly, "your shoes are untied."

Les flushed. "So? Maybe…maybe I did it on purpose, to help my act!"

"Don't lie to me. I know exactly why you've got them stuck in your socks."

Les tried not to make eye contact with Jack, who was the last person Les wanted to hear this conversation.

"You still can't tie your shoes!" Davey burst out exasperation. "I've tried to teach you time and time again, but you just can't get it, can you?"

Jack was smirking. Even Crutchie couldn't hide a smile. Both knew about the problem; both were amused by it.

"My fingers just won't do the right thing," Les mumbled.

"Exactly! You've got to teach them to do the right thing!"

"I don't know what the right thing is."

"Is the right thing a right thing to do the right thing?" Jack interjected, sniggering.

"Okay, Davey, okay! I'll learn to tie my shoes! Just not right now, I have to go."

"You're not leaving without those laces tied," Davey said firmly. Crutchie got up suddenly and limped a few paces away. Les could see him shaking with silent laughter.

"So tie them! You know you're gonna in the end."

"Uh-uh! Not this time, pal." Davey poked Les in the chest. "You're going to do it yourself."

"I don't know how!"

"Better learn quick then."

"You gotta teach me again!"

"Nope. I've tried. You gotta do it yourself."

"But I can't!"

Davey stood up and waved his hands vaguely at the other newsies. "So have Jack or someone teach you. You've gotta learn somehow."

"But—"

"No buts! There's no escaping it anymore, pal. You better have them tied when I see you later or…or…"

"Or what?" Les challenged.

Davey glared at him. "Or I'll tell dad you've been buying penny candy again."

That shut Les up. He turned desperately to Jack, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"You gotta help me."

So Jack, snorting with laughter, set about the hopeless task of teaching Les to tie his shoes. After he was done chuckling, he was a patient teacher, but Les just couldn't get it.

Finally, after all the other newsies had left and the manager was giving them suspicious looks, Jack laced up Les' shoes tightly for him and clapped his shoulder. "Our secret. A kid can't get penny candy taken from him, now can he?"

Les sold the remainder of his papers slowly throughout the afternoon. Rich people trickling out of a nearby shop were targets, as were even richer people stepping out from a carriage. By the end of the day, Les was exhausted, and after tossing his bag at Weasel, collapsed on a bench next to Davey.

"You tied your shoes," Davey said approvingly.

"Yeah…" _Tried, anyway, _Les thought.

"You sure you didn't just have Jack tie them for you?" Davey asked, a warning note in his voice.

"We were in there for a real long time, Davey," Les said firmly.

"So you can really tie your shoes now?" Davey asked, grabbing Les' foot, bringing it into his lap and examining the tight knot.

Les nodded. _Close, anyway._

With one tug, Davey pulled the knot apart. "Show me," he ordered.

Les scurried away.

He and Davey always stopped at the newsies' Lodging House to talk, and today was no different. Les raced around with the others, trying to catch each other, until Davey grabbed his collar.

"Time to go."

"Aw, Davey, just a little longer?"

"We gotta get home."

Jack strolled over to them. He knocked Les' hat down over his eyes, and Les readjusted it, used to the affectionate teasing. "See you two tomorrow. Oh, and Les…don't forget to bring me some of that penny candy, eh?"

"I think not," Davey said, punching Jack lightly on the shoulder. He repeated Jack's motion of pulling Les' hat down over his eyes, and Les put it back up again. "See you, Jack."

Les gave Jack a quick hug and then followed Davey down the street. By the time they got home, Les was nearly falling over in exhaustion; his eyelids drooped and his head nodded. Davey picked him up and carried him in his arms up to their apartment.

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**Thanks for all the reviews and suggestions! I thought I'd get this happy chapter up before starting a new one shot that promises to be extremely angsty. Tell me what you thought of Les' day! I hope it lived up to your expectations!**


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